I have been reading some poems by Francis Harvey and it strikes me that the poems are a way of offering thoughts in layers:

Rust

the further you walk

down the slipway you’ll see

how the mooring rings

get thinner and thinner

until the one at the end

looks like that Polo mint

you once held up in your fingers

to show me how long you could suck it

before it melted in your mouth.

The sea has a sweet tooth.

thinking about Layers while reading poetry:

MESHLIKE: As we read the poem each image hovers over the next – and each new layer holds a distinct image – as one layer settles over the next, each cummulation alters the last creating new shades and hues – we follow the thoughts from the surface downwards – into the depth where the thought is concentrated.

here’s another poem by Francis Harvey:

Easaranca

The waterfall that turned

white with fear

and roared for help

as it plunged

over the edge of the cliff

regains its colour

but loses its voice

when it sees

the state of itself

in the pool at its feet.